


To Burn With Desire

by BigBloodyShip



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sorry I just have a lot of feels, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigBloodyShip/pseuds/BigBloodyShip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are three times when James almost tells Q that he loves him, but when he finally does on the fourth time, he's already too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Burn With Desire

**Author's Note:**

> So I was listening to an Adele album and suddenly got a lot of feels. This is the result. 
> 
> The title comes from a quote by the great poet Federico Garcia Lorca: "To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."

James Bond has always found Q to be very beautiful, in a strange and quiet sort of way. He doesn’t quite know how to label or describe the way he feels towards his quartermaster. He isn’t even really sure if it’s love, or merely a platonic sort of affection. He isn’t sure if it’s anything at all. He had never really loved before, and had intended on having things stay that way, but something told him when he’d seen those big, bright, bespectacled eyes for the first time at the National Gallery, that life as he knew it was over. 

Love has been exalted in poetry and paintings and songs since the beginning of history – an emblem of the highest glory, an uplifting and insurmountable power. It can’t possibly be love that James feels. They say love is supposed to be a jubilant, invigorating, and rejuvenating sensation, and that it’s the most beautiful thing in the entire world. They don’t say that it’s supposed to hurt, more than any wound he has ever received in his many years of service at MI6.

But if that tightness in his chest that slowly becomes more and more painful as the years pass isn’t love, then what is it?

And besides, love is not the most beautiful thing in the world.

Q is.

Q, with his soft, lovely voice and endearingly mussed hair and cherubically youthful features. Q, with all his perfections and imperfections.

James goes into the field with Q’s face in his mind and voice in his ears. He trusts him to guide him where he needs to go and to provide him with all the equipment he needs, crafted with meticulous care. He hates to admit it, but if it weren’t for Q, many of his missions would be near impossible. Although it’s been imposed on him in a way, he’s never trusted anyone else with his life before. He is dependent on his quartermaster’s help, and perhaps that’s what makes him realise that he _needs_ Q, both physically and mentally, nearly pathologically, and not just in the context of his missions or duties to MI6.

For him, there’s only ever been Q.

 _It’s not love_ , he tells himself over and over again, like a broken record, _It’s not love. It can’t be love_.

He tells himself this daily, every time he passes by his quartermaster, every time he hears his voice, every time he catches sight of him walking down the corridor, every time they speak with one another. He isn’t really sure if he’s entirely convinced. It’s somewhat terrifying.

James and Q are generally on friendly terms, except for when he puts Q in a sour mood after failing to return equipment to him intact. Otherwise, they are very comfortable with each other after working together for a considerable amount of time, comfortable enough to engage in light-hearted banter. Q is terribly clever – perhaps he is even cleverer than James – and he fascinates James in countless ways. James enjoys the time they spend together more than he should. Sometimes, Q even makes James smile, and when Q finally begins calling him “James” instead of “007,” it makes him unfathomably happy.

It’s rather disturbing, the way James sometimes catches himself wishing that they were something more than friends.

What would it be like to hold Q in his arms? What would it be like to protect him? What would it be like to make him happy? What would it be like to kiss him?

What would it be like to be loved by him?

When James finally decides that he is indeed quite in love with his quartermaster, he doesn’t have the courage to act on it. It’s very maddening to be afraid of such a thing, and he isn’t really sure what it is that he fears. Perhaps it is the thought that there is no going back now that he has admitted to himself that he loves Q that scares him the most. There’s no running from it now. He is trapped, ensnared by Q’s clever eyes, pretty face, lovely voice, and remarkable wit.

He is in love.

James Bond has come frighteningly close to death at least a hundred times, but he doesn’t know how to say _I love you_ to Q.

There are three times when he almost tells him.

The first time, he’s rather unattractively drunk, and he stumbles uninvited into Q’s flat. It is well past midnight, and Q sternly forces him to drink a glass of water before James passes out on the couch just as he is about to mumble out those three deadly words.

The second time was the day 003 was killed in action. Q had been guiding him through the failed mission, and blamed himself fully for the incident. James finds him crying alone at his desk long after everyone else has gone home for the night. Wordlessly, he holds Q’s hand and dries his tears. He tries to comfort Q and assures him that he still has faith in his abilities, and when Q says, _You’ve always been so good to me, James. Why is that?_  he almost lets slip his secret, but in the end, he manages to hold his tongue.

The third time, he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to return to England alive. Q is relaying instructions to him, as calmly as he can, trying to guide him out of a building rigged to explode with heavy gunfire coming at him from every side and every angle. _Q, if I don’t make it out, there’s something I want you to know, something I’ve been meaning to tell you for god knows how long_ , he remembers saying, and Q had responded gently with, _Don’t speak, James. Just keep running. You’re coming home, I promise._ And he does. He escapes with his life, just barely, and gets ready to go back to England – back to Q.

But when he returns to MI6 a few days later, something has changed.

There’s someone else in Q’s life now, another man. A rather nice bloke, from what James hears. James learns that he is a banker, fairly wealthy and successful. He’s an old friend of M’s, about the same age as himself, and he had met Q when his laptop had been infected with a virus while James was abroad on his mission. As a favour, M had asked Q to fix it, and things had moved along surprisingly quickly from there.

Sometimes, the man has flowers delivered to Q at the office for no particular reason. He gives Q lots of other gifts – tea, chocolates, scarves, and cardigans. Q talks about him to James sometimes, though not often, but he doesn’t talk to anyone else about him, and James supposes he should be pleased that he is the only one that Q trusts enough to divulge these personal details to.

Mostly, it’s little things, like _We went to the theatre last night. The play was awful, but he paid for drinks afterwards_ , or _He offered to pick me up from work every night. Of course, I declined, since I have to work quite late most nights, but he’s very sweet, isn’t he?_

It sends a sharp twinge of jealousy through his chest, sliding right between his ribs like a blade.

James can’t say he is surprised when Q shows up for work one day with a stunner of an engagement ring on his hand that has Miss Moneypenny squealing with delight for the entire day.

James meets Q’s fiancé once at a rare party that Miss Moneypenny hosts sometime near Christmas. Q, wearing a jumper in a festive cranberry hue, is at the arm of an unfamiliar middle-aged man in a blue suit. His a hairline is receding slightly, he has a rather plain face, and he is a little on the portly side, but he has a friendly smile and is looking at Q with nothing short of pure adoration in his eyes.

Of course this man loves Q. Q is so beautiful and young and clever. How could anyone _not_ love him?

“James,” Q says brightly, waving him over, “Come meet my fiancé.”

James forces a smile and eases through the crowd to where Q and his fiancé are standing, chatting with Tanner. Tanner smiles politely and steps back to let James take his place.

“You must be James Bond,” the man says, extending a hand for a shake, “I’ve heard so many wonderful things. Geoffrey talks about you quite a lot, you know. You must be a very dear friend of his. It’s very exciting to finally meet you.”

It takes James a moment to realise that “Geoffrey” is Q. It hurts in a strange way to think that even after everything he and Q have been through together working for MI6, he had never divulged his real name to him before. What was it about this plain, ordinary, bland man that had drawn that unknown side out of James’ quartermaster? What did Q even see in him? What did he have to give to Q that James never could?

Try as he might, James can’t find a real reason to dislike Q’s fiancé. He is somewhat of a bore, in James’ opinion, but he seems to be a good man, and he clearly loves Q, treats him well, and makes him happy. That’s the important thing, isn’t it?

He tells himself that Q deserves a wealthy and kind man like his fiancé who can provide for him and give him some sort of normal and secure home life, and that Q has no need for a hopeless, broken wreck of a man like himself. He tells himself that it’s better this way. As long as Q is happy, then James is happy, too.

At least, he’ll try to be.

On Q’s wedding day some time in late winter, he arrives early just as Q had asked, to help make last-minute preparations and to make sure everything is in order. When he arrives, he runs into Miss Moneypenny, who is standing in the corridor, applying a fresh coat of lipstick.

"You’d better go see him,” she says, gesturing down the corridor, “He’s in one of the back rooms, getting dressed.”

 James locates him quickly enough, and knocks on the door.

“Is that you, James?” comes Q’s voice from within.

“Yes.”

“Come in, then.”

“How’d you know it was me?” James asks as he slides into the room, closing the door behind him.

“I can recognise the sound of your footsteps. Funny, isn’t it?”

His quartermaster is sitting down in a chair, watching James with a small smile. He’s not dressed in anything terribly special at all. In fact, he really does look like he’s ready for just another day at the office. Yet, Q is still, and always will be, the most beautiful thing that James has ever seen in his entire life.

“Really, Q?” James asks, arching an eyebrow, “You’re going to get married in a _cardigan,_ of all things?”

“Of course I am,” Q replies breezily, “But is this alright? Isn’t there some silly rule that says I’m not allowed to see anyone before the ceremony on the big day?”

“No, I think that’s only your fiancé.”

“Oh,” Q says with a light laugh, “Then we’re lucky you’re not my fiancé, aren’t we?”

James forces himself to chuckle good-naturedly along with him.

“Yes,” he answers, “Very lucky indeed.”

There’s a long silence, and Q looks down at his shoes and begins to fiddle absently with the sleeve of his cardigan. James watches him for a moment, wondering just what it is that’s going on through that clever little mind of his, but quickly averts his eyes when Q looks up.

“Are you nervous?” James asks, trying to break the uncomfortable silence, because he needs to say something, anything, to stop himself from screaming _Please don’t do this, please don’t leave me alone, please let me tell you everything that I’ve wanted to tell you since the day I met you and fell in love._

“Isn’t everyone on their big day?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Don’t worry,” Q says softly, and reaches out to clasp James’ hand affectionately, “You’ll find someone who strikes your fancy soon.”

 _I already have_ , James longs to say, _I found you_.

"Actually, James, I have a bit of a favour to ask of you. As you know, I don’t have a father, or anything very much like one, to escort me down the aisle. I should have asked you much earlier, but it’d make me so happy if you’d do it – if it’s not too much of an imposition, of course. You’re one of my best friends. I can’t think of a better man for the job.”

“Of course I will,” James says with yet another forced smile. “I’d be honoured to.”

“Are you sure?”

“You know I’d do anything for you, Q,” he murmurs, “I’d go to the other end of the world and back, right now, if you asked me to.”

Q smiles warmly at him.

“I know, James,” he replies in a voice barely above a whisper, “I know.”

And so James walks his beloved quartermaster down the aisle to get married to a man that isn’t him, and never will be.

It’s a relatively small ceremony. James would even say it was quite charming, if he didn’t feel like he was crumbling into pieces throughout its entire duration. He doesn’t even know how he had managed to walk Q to where his fiancé was waiting without falling apart, He hadn’t wanted to let go of him. He doesn’t know how he had managed to sit through the vows with a painfully artificial smile plastered on his face, either.

He can’t bring himself to watch when they kiss, and instead claps politely with his gaze stuck to the floor.

He knows he should man up and be supportive of Q, but it hurts. It hurts so bloody much. It’s tearing him apart before leaving him out for buzzards to peck at.

The reception takes place right afterwards, and the revelries go on late into the night. The cake, which Miss Moneypenny had selected for them, looks delicious, but James has no appetite whatsoever. He sits grimly by himself at a table away from the all the couples dancing to a jazz band, staring absently into a glass of champagne, wishing it was something much stronger. The band isn’t bad at all, but James doesn’t dare look up from his drink for fear that he’ll go mad if he has to see Q in the arms of his new husband.

Finally, he can’t bear it any more, and he silently makes his way through the crowds of people, all laughing and smiling, before slipping out the back door.

He admits that he is quite surprised to see Q there, sitting by himself on the steps, staring quietly out into the darkness.

“What are you doing out here alone?” James asks, “You’re a newlywed. You should be enjoying it and basking in all the attention.”

“I don’t dance,” Q says, smiling faintly, “I needed some air.”

James feels every fibre of his body softening when he notices that Q is shivering. The cardigan he’s wearing is not quite warm enough, it seems. He removes his suit jacket and drapes it gently over Q’s shoulders, sitting down next to him on the steps.

“So, how are you feeling about all of this?”

“I don’t know,” Q admits, “A little strange. But I’m happy, I think.”

“I never properly congratulated the two of you,” James says, “So, congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you, James,” Q says, turning to look at him. The strange tenderness in his eyes causes something in James’ chest to twist in an excruciatingly acute manner. “It really does mean a lot, coming from you. I always thought that you didn’t believe in marriage.”

“I didn’t,” James finds himself replying, a little more forcefully than he intended, “I never even considered it until I met you.”

“What on earth could you possibly mean by that?” Q laughs, but James isn’t joking around.

He’s so tired of pretending that what he feels for Q is anything less than it is, and he’s so tired of pretending that he’s perfectly alright with it. He’s tired of pretending that it doesn’t hurt to think that Q will never be with him. He’s tired of pretending that he doesn’t feel like he is dying over and over again when he tells himself the truth – that he is direly and most desperately in love with his beautiful, clever young quartermaster, and that his quartermaster will never love him back. He is only human, after all. He can only hold it all in within himself for so long, and now it is bursting white-hot through his chest.

He doesn’t even think before he reaches out to cup Q’s face in his hands and leans in to kiss him deeply on the lips.

Q makes a startled noise, eyes growing as wide as saucers. He leans into the kiss, almost as if he has no control over his own body, and his fingers curl tightly around the fabric of James’ shirt. James kisses him breathless, until he forgets that there is a world around them, because Q is the only thing that exists in that moment and everything about this just feels so _right_. Every part of his body is screaming at him to never let go of Q, ever.

But he is wrenched back down to solid ground when Q pulls away rather abruptly, eyes downcast.

The two of them are both silent for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” James says at last, “I’m so sorry.”

“James…”

“The thing is, Q,” James blurts, because he’s just _kissed_ him for heaven’s sake, and there’s not much else he has left to lose, “I love you. I always have. I’ve just never managed to find the courage to say it to your face. God knows I’ve been wanting to for so long. But I’m too late, I suppose.”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you telling me now, of all times?” Q asks in bewilderment, eyes wide and voice trembling unsteadily, “I’ve just gotten _married_ , James.”

“I know you have, and maybe this isn’t the right time at all,” James says desperately, “And it really isn’t my place to say any of this to you, but you have to know. I thought I’d die if I could never have the chance to tell you, but I realised that I’m already dying. All of this is killing me, Q.”

“Don’t talk like that, I’m begging you.”

“I had to tell you. I wish I was enough of a man to say it to you sooner, when I would have…when I still would have had a fighting chance.”

“Please, James.”

“God, I’m so sorry,” James mutters, viciously cursing himself, “I’ve ruined your night. I’ll leave now, and I’ll never bother you again. Keep my jacket.” James gets swiftly to his feet, chest pounding and head throbbing. He feels like liquid nitrogen is flowing in his veins instead of blood, and that he could explode at any moment. He forces himself to turn away from Q and begins striding briskly back up the steps. He needs to get as far away from this place as possible before he breaks entirely.

“James, wait.”

James freezes. He doesn’t want to look at Q, but he turns back around to face him like he deserves. Slowly, Q rises, eyes fixed on James.

“He might be my husband,” Q tells him softly, “But you’ll always be my Double-0 agent, and I’ll always be your quartermaster. That matters a great deal to me, you know.”

Q is right, he supposes.

He has to find a way to make that enough for himself. It will be, one day. Perhaps not today, not tomorrow, or even any time in the near future, but he tells himself again that as long as Q is happy, then so is he.

This time, he is relieved to find that he doesn’t have as much difficulty believing it.

“I’m happy for you, Q,” James says finally, and he means what he says. “I really am.”

Hesitantly, Q approaches him. He pauses for a moment before leaning forward and kissing James gently on the cheek.

“Thank you, James.”

His quartermaster gives him one last affectionate smile before slipping back inside to rejoin his husband, and James quietly lets him go.

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno how well I did with this, but I feel like these kinds of fics are always something along the lines of Q already being a relationship, but is mistreated in some way, and falls back into James' arms. I'm guilty of having written the same scenario before - but I wanted to change things up a wee bit this time. If Q is happy and in love with no chance of coming to James, wouldn't it hurt so much more?
> 
> I decided for Q's real name to be "Geoffrey" because of "Geoffrey Boothroyd," the name of one of the former Qs. I didn't really know what else I might call him. Call me uncreative, I suppose.


End file.
